雨降って地固まる

I hate and love crossroads. I've been told by the people closest to me that I can't let go of anything or anybody. When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares about vacant fields and empty parking lots at dusk. Sunsets made me anxious. I had a recurring dream of being in a huge crowd of kids and backpacks in front of my elementary school waiting to be picked up by my mom, and then the people would slowly dissipate and I'd realize I was the only one left, the sun going down, nobody coming after all.

I've been told I don't act my age, but I don't really care. I feel like being belligerent. When I was on the trail last week, I didn't pull my own weight with the staff. One night we made a staff fire and a student fire. I opted to sit with the teenage boys because I was pissed at the staff as much as they were. It's stupid to have two fires anyway. I want to vandalize something. I want to carve my name in bricks and throw them into abandoned house windows except I know I'd regret leaving my imprints in places possibly filled with ghosts who would recognize my handwriting and haunt me the rest of my life.

So I don't know what my problem is. There's still plenty to be grateful for, despite my own disgust at myself and what I do to people. I used to have these nightmares about punching my little sister repeatedly, not being able to stop. I've dreamed of having roommate fights with broken glass bottles as an undergraduate. I dreamed another time that I had to pull porcupine quills from a good friend's stomach to save his life and tore the hell out of his flesh in the process. I've been accused of holding people's heads underwater, of stabbing, abandoning, hiding. A mission companion told me I was hopelessly selfish and impossible to live with.

I'm just writing to say I get it. Consider this my proclamation that I get this about myself. I am aware. Let me have this pity party and give me a moment to gather my inventory and wrap my bread and cheese once more into my red and white handkerchief tied to a stick, and I'll move along as soon as day breaks. But give me this one evening to sit and dwell and be pissed off at the complexities of day-to-day life and my inability to attract and keep any good thing that will last longer than a fortnight. Women are supposed to be these great nest makers and care-givers and despite the common misconceptions people make, I am no different. I am just your run-of-the-mill Aunt Bea, June Cleaver, Mrs. Brady. But I also don't give heed to the sleeping beauty syndrome of lying around with lips puckered until some guy comes around to give me life. I'm outta here.